The Killer and the Bluff
by Vergalicious
Summary: Miranda Fortuna and Jack Marston are on the run from a gang of violent murderers who want them dead. They become entangled as partners after a botched train robbery and the enticement of a treasure map. There's nowhere left to hide, and though they start off hating each other, the only solace and truth they can find is with each other.
1. These Dreams Lay Dying

**The Killer and the Bluff**

**Red Dead Redemption**

**Miranda Fortuna's return to Mexico - and subsequent discovery of the fate of her family - ignites a fiery hatred for her Mexican routes. Fleeing to New Austin, she dreams of becoming a Blackwater socialite as she works at local brothels to earn a living on her own. A thief in the night brings her to the company of Jack Marston, the son of the man that saved her life not-so-long-ago, and together they must face inner demons as they struggle with outward evils on a journey through the last of the west.**

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, RDR fandom :D This is a story I've been dabbling in and out of for a couple of weeks now, and I've finally decided to let you nice folks see it after spending hours on RDR wikis researching the poop out of the RDR world for this story.<strong>

**Enjoyyy :)**

* * *

><p>I was a prostitute in 1914, the exact thing my sister sent me away to avoid becoming. As the Mexican Revolution came to a screeching halt, and my sister's former lover became president, I travelled back to my homeland in a search to find her.<p>

What I found, however, was that my entire family was dead, or missing. Louisa had been killed by the Army while trying to save that good-for-nothing, brutal, bastard of a president they now have, and Father was killed sometime before her death by the Army. My brother and mother were nowhere to be found, and though I searched in vain until my finances required me to move north, I found no trace of them or anyone who knew them.

My life was destroyed.

Before my search for my family, back when a kind man named John Marston gallantly drove me to the docks in Nuevo Paraiso, I was instructed to go to work in the Yucatan. And there I did work, for nearly a year, until I grew fed up of the conditions and I hitched a boat ride back to Mexico. That is where I discovered my family's fate.

I first moved to Cholla Springs with my sights set on moving further north to Blackwater, where I'd finally settle down or perhaps find a nice man to marry. A nice, American man – I wanted no connection to the life I left behind, or the division of peoples my family fought so hard to unite. I wanted my children to be Americanized and as far from crime and rebellion as I could offer them – I wanted to marry a bureau man in Blackwater, be involved in politics and become a socialite woman.

My childish sights were washed away as soon as I arrived in that dusty little town called Armadillo.

I found no job offering to hire a woman, and I had no one to rely on for handouts. My circumstances were dire, and I turned to prostitution to find my way north-east. I promised myself it'd be only for a little while, until I could afford a train ticket northbound.

In Armadillo, my hopes and goals slowly faded as I continued to work in the saloon for months, and instead of moving east, I moved out west to Gaptooth Ridge in a little rundown shack known as the Scratching Post by the locals. From the yard I could see Mexico across the San Luis, and the place I fought so hard to disassociate from, I saw daily.

The prostitution rates were much higher in Gaptooth then in Cholla Springs, mainly because there were so little law enforcement and the land demanded one stick up for only one's own self. The prostitutes set their high prices, the lawless, rugged men paid them, and the few sheriffs in the area did little about it, mainly because they were also assorted customers.

After a month in Gaptooth, I purchased a horse, my _Belleza de la Sierra_, a beautiful yellowed horse called a "Kentucky Saddler" by the man I bought it from for the price of a pile of hay. She was malnourished and sickly, but it was a passing illness that ceased after a couple well-fed meals. Every day I rode her to Rathskeller Fork where I continued my work as a prostitute, eventually raising in the ranks to one of the "high rate hookers," as they called us. My showgirl name was Annabel, and in my determination to abandon my Mexican roots, I picked up on the English accents of the gentlemen I entertained, and began changing the way I spoke. Instead of being an obvious immigrant to the men I entertained, I soon became known as the "tanned 'bel." My drop of the Mexican accent would surely make my parents and sister turn over in their graves, but it also raised me up the ranks in the brothel. The girls at the brothel were all impressed by my adaption to an American accent.

One day a woman came along that we all addressed as "Madam." She said she worked at the Dixie Rose in Thieves' Landing – a place I had never dared venture before. She encouraged me to seek employment there, but I hadn't the money. When I told her this, she frowned and said if I ever found myself there, I'd be welcome.

She was a beautiful woman with a robust and curvaceous body. Her personality was strong and charming, and many of the girls at Rathskeller Fork fell under her lure. Madam promised us all a better way of life with much higher rates for a small travelling fee to get to Thieves' Landing. From the porch of Rathskeller Forks' brothel and saloon, I watched three girls climb into Madam's carriage and head off into the lazy desert heat. Jealously, I wished I was one of them. Thieves' Landing was a short way away from West Elizabeth and I could walk to Blackwater from there.

As the days drone on, the only thing that kept me from shooting all the disgusting men that came to visit me was the idea that, once I had enough money, I'd go to Thieves' Landing to make the biggest profit of all – enough to buy a home in Blackwater.

I didn't dwell on the fact that no man would want to marry a whore, let alone a Mexican whore. If I met any man willing to take me, I'd already developed a back story for my new self. Each day I'd fill in the details of my new character from stories I heard from the men in the saloon. One time, a man boasted he was from a long line of rich, Dutch immigrants by the name of Koen, and from then on my Annabel showgirl name began to take root.

Annabel Koen was born to Mrs Edith and Mr Titus Koen, of a long line of wealthy Dutch immigrants that came to America in 1883. They gave birth to their one and only child in 1896 in a yellow house overlooking Flat Iron Lake near Blackwater. Mr Koen worked as a successful bureaucrat banker, and Mrs Koen was a busy midwife to the ladies nearby. Annabel, at the age of 15, went on a business trip with her father and mother to Mexico, where an unfortunate accident claimed the life of her parents – an accident involving a wagon full of dynamite. She was shipped off to the Yucatan to work and live with her Aunt Odette, a nun trying to teach the Mexicans there English. However, finding sisterhood painfully boring and frustrating, she ran away to Armadillo where she had no money and had to result to prostitution.

After telling the showgirls at Rathskeller Fork my story, the few who knew my real name expressed their wonderment in my abilities to create such a realistic back story. They said prostitution was no line of work for me – that perhaps I would be better off a writer, and that with my intelligence I could do anything.

What they said was charming, but dreadfully dishonest. I knew girls at the Rathskeller Fork brothel, who were much smarter than me, and a girl I knew only by the name of "Geordina" was a much better storyteller then I was. Geordina often entertained and awed the few children that passed through Rathskeller with wondrous fairytales and a charming personality that won over even their judgemental parents. I was hardly liked by anyone other than the men paying for my body.

"Misses?" said the fidgety man beside me who was obviously married according to the tale the sizable ring on her finger told. He plucked at my hand and I turned to face him, blinking away the sunlight that had blinded my eyes. The dusk light poured into the dusty windows of the brothel and I shifted, the wood creaking beneath my shoes, and smiled at him.

"Darling, you look mighty nervous. I'd love to calm your nerves down with some tenderness," I crooned, and the man laughed forcefully and removed his hat as we entered the bedroom that I often occupied. He turned to look at me and rubbed his pale hands together as I eyed him up and down. Despite him wearing appropriate cowboy clothes, he was pale and soft-looking like a newborn babe and appeared to have never worked a day outside in his life.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I haven't got a goddamn idea on what I'm supposed to do," he laughed, sitting down on the bed. I approached him, my shoes clicking across the wooden floor as I neared.

"Just relax darling, and let me do all the work."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Reviews and helpful criticism is welcome, of course.<strong>

*** Please excuse my poor Spanish in this story, google translate can be finicky.**


	2. Escape

In the middle of the week, when usually business is none too high, a man came by Rathskeller that caught everyone's attention. He was broad and tall, with dark stubble and a handsomely proportioned face. His gleaming blue eyes were mischievous and his smile was mysterious. All the girls fawned over him, and when he pulled out a wad of cash as he spoke to the saloon owner, everyone was watching him with hungry eyes.

"Whose gonna be the lucky one to ride _that _bull?" a girl I knew only as Mary asked. The man leaned on the bar of the saloon and smirked at each of us that stood in the room. His eyes strayed on each of us, his sight prodding like a hot poker. When that startling blue gaze fell on me I felt my face blush and my skin grow hot. Mary nudged me and said, in her thick Southern drawl, "He's been lookin' at you since he set foot in here."

Unfortunately for the girls, he was not a paying customer and left only half hour after he arrived. Later that night, after we collected our pay from the owner, he told us the man was named Ray Stinson and he had offered a huge lump sum for a couple of the finest girls here.

Apparently, he was trying to round up girls for his new brothel inn up north in Canada. The owner said that story was unlikely considering the vague and dishonest approach Mr Stinson used, and he would never sell us out to someone who dealt business only in showy words and fake smiles.

"Rest assured," the owner continued, "you won't see that man again."

Riding home on Sierra was surprisingly tiring tonight. Her gaited trot was hammering, especially with her limp, and I had to dismount halfway down the road to check her hooves for a lodged pebble.

"Sierra my poor darling," I crooned, patting her flaxen mane as I gingerly touched her limping leg. She had limped for as long as I owned her, an "unfortunate accident" had caused it, according to her previous owner. He had told me she was in no pain, but it was an uncomfortable ride. He had told me without remorse that his first intentions had been to starve and kill her once he realized her leg wouldn't be fixed, but after consideration and a plea from his daughter he decided to sell the poor horse.

"And I'm sure as shit happy he did," I murmured, picking out the pebble from her hoof, "Or else I wouldn't have such a wonderful horse such as you."

She snorted and lowered her head to graze as I checked the rest of her hooves. A chilly breeze picked up, swept northward from the river, and I felt chilled in my riding clothes. My skin shivered and goose pimples formed on my arms as a coyote skittered past, giving one howling yelp as he disappeared into the brush. The night was dead of life and the overcast clouds made it tenfold as dark as usual.

Sierra's skin shivered and I placed my hand on her warm and soft hide.

"Everything's alright," I told her, though really I think I was trying to convince myself.

Satisfied that she was good to ride the rest of the way home, I checked the cinch of her saddle to make sure it was still tight.

That's when I saw a rider in the distance watching me.

His horse was powerful looking, with feathers above its hooves and a thick neck. The man sitting on him was just as big, just as powerful, and just as muscular.

Fighting the urge deep inside me that told me to run, I swung into Sierra's saddle and prodded her into a walk. Everything felt magnified – the crunch beneath her hooves, the way she snorted and shied. I felt like I had to tell the world to shut up, and I felt as though I was trying to disappear into the darkness so that the man could not see me anymore.

I knew he was watching me.

Why did I feel so terrified?

Sierra's eyes rolled when she sensed my apprehension, and I leaned over to pat her neck. I kept the reins in tight, then changed my mind and loosened them so she could pick her own way home against the cracked and dried road.

A twig snapped behind me and the hairs on my neck stood on end.

"Don't look behind you," I told myself. If I did, I was half terrified I'd see the man right behind me and half terrified I'd see something much worse, like a cougar in mid-leap.

"Fuck," I whispered as I turned to look as quick as possible. The man was still there. His horse was trotting in place, its powerful long legs pawing at the earth as it struggled to resist its natural urges and listen to its master.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I growled, kicking Sierra into a lope. We got home in half the time I thought we would, leaving the man and his beast behind in the chilly and dark night.

I removed Sierra's tack in two seconds flat and headed in doors with the only thing on my mind being to rest my tired head.

I changed into my nightgown and slid into the ripped and sweat-stained sheets of my bed. With my mind still on the man outside, I found it incredibly silly that I hadn't accepted the owner of the saloon at Rathskeller's offer of room and board up there in the safe confines of civilization. Living at the Scratching Post seemed rebellious and something I could handle back when I first moved in and fixed up the place with the piddly earnings I got from my fine career choice. Now I wished for nothing more than the safety of a neighbour.

It's not like I hadn't come to this conclusion before. Gaptooth Ridge is known for its lawlessness, and a woman living on her own was just begging for danger. I think I might have thought I was immune to the dangers of wild west living, but after a couple weeks sleeping in the eerie confines of the Scratching Post, I had asked the owner about the room and board he had offered me.

"I'm sorry Anna," he had said though he didn't look a fucker's worth of sorry, "I sold the last room to a young fellow who came by here about a week ago."

"Sorry my ass," I had muttered under my breath. Each night I regretfully, woefully and tiredly turned myself to the long trail that led to the Scratching Post. I knew eventually Sierra wouldn't be able to handle that trek, but when that day came I wouldn't know what to do.

At the sound of another coyote yelping, I felt myself begin to drift off into the land of the sleeping. My mother used to tell me stories about what she said was truth but what I always took as myth. She said when we slept our souls went to the realm of the dead for a visit.

With a pang of grief, I suddenly wished I could see my father's face, or my mother's if that's where her soul lay now. I missed them terribly, and I really wished they would not see what I've become – a whore who gave up her heritage.

"Madres," I whispered, my eyes opening to the dark, shadowy room. Dried tears clung to the insides of my eyes and I wiped them away

_Clomp, clomp, clomp…_

I paused and sat up in bed.

"Sierra?" I called, willing myself to hope that the strange and even clomping of hooves could belong to my very recognizably limp mare.

Suddenly, the wood of the front door splintered from the force of something hitting it. I jumped and fell from my bed, hitting the floor hard, the scream of fright caught in my throat as my hand reached up to steady my heart.

"Mother Mary, Dear God in Heaven save me," I choked out in one breath as a second blow fell upon my front door. Sierra screamed from the backyard, and I stumbled to my feet and made a beeline for the backdoor with a wide berth around the front one.

A third blow fell upon the door and I made the mistake of glancing back and seeing the blade of an axe poking through the wood. Suddenly voices were filling my ears – voices surrounding my home. As I reached the backdoor it was kicked open and a man was standing before me, leering into my face.

"Boss!" he yelled, and I jumped for the window. He grabbed my nightgown and threw me onto the bed, pointing a gun at my head. "Boss!"

"Ah, there she is," a voice said. The front door burst open and more men streamed into the room. I pulled my nightgown down to my knees and heaved fearful breaths.

"Miranda Fortuna, at last," said the man who entered. He was broad, muscular and handsome… the same man from Rathskeller. "I knew I'd find you."

"I'm Annabel Koen –,"

"I know who you are," he chuckled, lighting up a cigar. "Don't play your mind games with me."

"I am Annabel Koen and I do not know who you are, and I demand you leave my house at once!" I tried to make myself sound brave and strong, but all the men laughed at me.

The broad man took a long drag from his cigar, than he leaned down and blew it in my face.

"I've been hunting down the last of you lot for years," he said, sneering. I resisted the urge to cough at the plume of smoke that seared down my throat. "On special orders of your President Abraham Reyes –,"

"But we were Revolutionists! We helped him!"

"But, I thought you were the very American Annabel Koen?" the men laughed again and my cheeks burned with hate.

"We helped the President."

"No, no no no. You do not understand, my poor girl," he chuckled, inhaling another long drag, "This is all but politics. Your president has hired my very capable services in order to wipe out those who have the strength to oppose. You see, he knows what you and your family were capable of."

"I left Mexico when I was fourteen. I haven't been back since and I have no wish to overthrow that _bastardo._"

"Look how you lie!" he took another drag and leaned in closer, the smoke swirling out from his nose and mouth and rising over his face. "I know you were back in Mexico about a year ago."

"Only to find my family. When I couldn't, I left –,"

"And became a very prized and skilled whore. I had men track you down like a dog, like a _bitch _in heat. And I learned of your new skills, both in Armadillo and in Gaptooth, and my men grew a lust for this daughter of the revolutionist family that became a whore."

"How dare you –,"

His hand flew across my face and I fell back on the bed.

"You see, your whole family has a price tag. You are the last to be brought in, and after some negotiations with the Mexican government we came to an agreement that you would be whore and servant of all my men if you never set foot in Mexico again. With us, we will be sure that never happens."

"How—!"

"We will have you chained up. Naked." The men snickered and moved in closer. The broad man took a drag from his cigar and smiled. "We're a very notorious gang, you see, from way up north. The thing is, we're in cohootz with both the American and Mexican government. In other words, _you will never be free._ However, you will be fed, bathed, and looked after. How does that sound, whore?"

"Never –,"

He reached down and before I could gasp he extinguished his cigar on the skin of my leg. I screamed and pulled away, but he grabbed my arm and tossed me back onto the bed. I hit my head against the wall and my hand landed on something sharp.

"You'll be the first whore in our saloon up in Canada." He smiled as I blinked back tears of pain. "We're hoping to spread our services throughout all of North America and I think you will do the Canadians good with your brown skin."

My fingers closed around the hunting knife I kept tucked between the mattress and the headboard, and I waited for the man to come back toward me again. My leg throbbed and a tear escaped my eye and trailed down my cheek.

"How dare you," I choked out, "How –,"

"Will someone shut this whore up?" he snarled, approaching me again and grabbing my arm. His fingers tightened agonizingly and I yelped. "You'll do as I say or we'll take you the hard way. Now get off that –,"

I swung my fist up and the knife sunk into his face. I leapt back as he howled in agony, tripping and stumbling from the pain in my leg as all his men watched in stunned silence. I took this as a chance to escape, and climbed out the window. Bullets fired after me and a searing hot pain shot into my bicep.

Amazingly, I reached Sierra and clambered onto her back. Her eyes rolled in fear but she immediately leapt over the low-lying fence as I wrapped my arms around her neck and willed her to get us away from here. Bullets grazed the ground under her hooves as we tore off into the wilderness.

The bullets continued for what seemed like an eternity after us, until in one instant it all seemed to stop. Sierra's sides were heaving and her breath was struggling. Her limp was as bad as I've ever seen it. I unwrapped my arms from her warm neck and opened my eyes, blinking tiredly at the early morning sky. It must have been about 5 in the morning.

I tried to talk, but only a moan fell out of my lips. A numbness had taken over my body since our escape from the Scratching Post, and when I glanced down I saw a bright ride river of blood and felt my gut churn.

My stomach tried to vomit, but nothing came out, and instead Sierra and I wandered further into the wilderness. In the distance I eventually saw a structure, though I couldn't recognize what it was or where we were. The world was closing into darkness, and I could feel my body slipping from Sierra's back.

Down, down, down to the ground…

I hit it dully, landing on my arm. More pain, more blood.

I blinked up into the sun – or was it the moon? – and saw it shadowed by a man's face.

"Lady? What on earth…,"


	3. God Awful Luck

I awoke with a start, jumping up in bed with my heart ricocheting around my ribcage as I scrambled out of the bed sheets. My legs were so tangled I tripped right into the wardrobe, smacking it into the wall with a loud bang.

For some stupid reason, I looked at my wrists to make sure I wasn't handcuffed or chained. The echoes of that monstrous man's speech were stilling rolling over in my mind. The Mexican government I once stood up for – my family once stood up for – now had my whole family killed. The man my sister so idolized and worshipped, praying he would deliver us from the scum government that reigned over us, gave me away so easily to the confines of slavery. I was to be a whore in Canada, a whore to that awful man and his disgusting gang. I was so easily given away, as if I weren't a human being but a piece of ownership that wasn't desired.

I realized my knees were shaking, and looking around wildly I spotted a window. The sun was up high in the sky and everything was starting to piece together. For now, I was safe.

I could remember getting on Sierra – Oh God, where was she? – and seeing the face of a stranger hovering over me just before I faded to black.

I put a hand against the cool wall and analyzed all of my body parts in the mirror. My arm was bandaged, and I was still in my nightgown. My cheeks heated at this thought, knowing that man had brought me here and had touched me in nothing more than a nightgown. I know I was stupider even for getting embarrassed about that, considering my job, but in my mind there had been a sort of separation between career and home life. Whatever happened at Rathskeller Fork, it was a dream compared to who I was outside, and vice versa. Annabelle Koen was not Miranda Fortuna.

I think I was kind of scared to go outside that bedroom door. I stared at the woodwork of it for a good long while, the whole time long considerations going through my head about what I was going to say and do after I left the bedroom. I would very well be the most embarrassed I had ever been, standing there amongst God knows who in nothing more than a nightgown. I even considered creeping out the window and finding my way back to the Hitching Post for some proper attire. God, I am so stupid.

And then I heard footsteps outside the door and I scrambled back to the bed, pulling the sheets up right up to my breast. The door swung open and a modest-looking girl walked in, smiling at me.

"Hello misses, I thought you were damn near Death's door for a moment," she put a bowl of sickly-looking food on the table beside the bed and ripped open the white lace curtains. Sunlight streamed onto the patched quilt and sheets and I blinked tiredly against the glare.

"Thank you kindly," I replied, gesturing to the food with as much enthusiasm as I could. "Do you know where I am? And who brought me here? I'm so sorry but I am not in my right mind."

"It's no problem at all," she said, nodding and lacing her fingers together. "You're in Armadillo, miss, brought in by a kind gentleman who found you near Benedict Point. Got on the train with you an' everything, brought you all the way here."

"And my horse?" I gasped.

"I'm sorry miss, I haven't an idea about any horse of yours." I blinked back my emotions and smiled at her again, analyzing her young features. She must have been no older than 13 now that I looked at her all nice and analytical like.

"Well, thank you. Thank you very much."

"The man is still here, if you'd like to thank him yourself. I believe he said he was heading out around noon on the train to Mexico, so you'd better be quick." She paused, eyeing me. "Would you like something to wear, miss? I'd hate to see all the men get flustered at your unsightly appearance."

"That would be much appreciated."

The girl opened the wardrobe I had bumped into earlier, and as she rummaged around I realized I had left a crack in the wall behind it. I swallowed quickly and practically snatched the clothes she handed to me – A God awful looking green thing that I suppose was meant to be a dress at some point.

"Thank you," I said again, clearing my throat. She left and I changed in a hurry. She hadn't given me any shoes so I took the liberty of going through the wardrobe and picking out the nicest pair, lacing them on as I struggled to the door. Halfway out, I realized I left the food untouched so I dumped everything out the window and left the bowl on the table.

I headed into the blinding sunlight of the saloon. I almost laughed at the courtesans around me, finding it ridiculous that no matter where I went or in what situation I ended up I was always surrounded by these types of girls – my type.

"Hello darling," one girl crooned to me, taking my wrist in her hand. "Are you alright? We heard all about what happened, how some rogue shot you down and Mr. Marston found you."

"Marston?" That name rung a bell, and after a moment of wordlessly staring at the poor woman I realized John Marston was the name of the man who had accompanied me out of Mexico a couple of years previously. What an exciting coincidence, that he saved me once again.

I smiled, "I'm alright, thank you," I sad as I slid from her grasp. I had been in the last room on the top floor of the saloon, one I had never been in when I used to work here.

I crept down the stairs, my eyes looking for that face I remembered. The scars, the ragged, leathery skin from hard work in the sun, the hat with the feather, the kind eyes – I saw the hat almost immediately, and I headed down the stairs toward him.

"Marston! Mr. Marston!" I called. I realized some of my old accent had crept back into my voice and I cleared my throat. The man turned towards me – and I felt a slight disappointment. It was obviously his son standing before me – similar features, though not quite the same. I think I had been excited about having a little bit of familiarity from my past, and the shock that this wasn't t_he _John Marston was a little disappointing.

I realized I couldn't just turn and leave, as I had already made eye contact with the young man at the bar, so I walked towards him slowly and purposely.

"Hello," I greeted, holding out a hand. He had the audacity to stare at it for a moment, before lifting his eyes toward me again. He had a bandana around his neck, a tan jacket and his Dad's old hat. He was freckled and very young looking, perhaps younger than me. His shoulders were slender, yet he was very tall. I leaned forward until my hand poked him in the chest.

"Hello," I said again, and this time he took my hand and gave it a curt shake.

"Ma'am," he greeted, turning back toward the bar and fiddling with his glass of whiskey. Was he even old enough?

"I'd just like to say thank you, for saving me. It was very kind, and I appreciate it."

"No problem at all."

"Do you know where my horse has gone to?" I asked, leaning on the bar next to him. I nodded my head towards the bartender and his face lit up. He'd been a good man to me while I was here and he came over with a bottle of my favourite brand.

"She's still at Benedict Point. A friend of mine is taking care of her. That, or she's wandered off," he said.

The bartender poured me a glass, smiling.

"Annabelle! How good to see you again – and out of those working clothes, too. You've gotten an honest job, like you said you would?" My eyes slid over to Mr. Marston and I couldn't read his expressionless face at all, but my cheeks burned anyhow.

"Yes, yes I'm not a prostitute anymore, thank you very much." I took the glass and swallowed it in one gulp. It burned down my throat and I choked a little bit. As the bartender poured me another glass, I really hoped he didn't expect me to pay for this.

"I'm Annabelle Koen," I said, facing Mr. Marston.

"Jack Marston," he replied, lifting his eyes to look into mine. The clock chimed and he rose from the stool, dumping a wad of cash onto the counter. He swayed a bit, and I wondered how long he'd been drinking.

"Are you alright?"

"Miss," he turned to me with a troubling smile and his honest eyes looked dark and daring, "I'm real happy you're happy I saved you, but I think it's time you took your leave from me."

"We've hardly had a conversation!" I gasped. I felt insulted and hurt, and he turned his back on me and waved goodbye as he strode out the door. The audacity! Had he no respect for women, respect for others? Had he no shame for himself and his actions? What a devilish man, addicted to the drink, so insulting to the thankful.

I walked after him only until I stood on the edge of the saloon porch, my pride curled at my feet and whimpering.

"Is this how much of a bastard you are? Saving people, then you insult the likes of them until they bugger off?" Bugger off? Where did that term come from? Probably from an English man I once served a while back.

He didn't look back, just kept striding toward the train station. I wanted to throw something at the back of his head. He wasn't anything like the strong, respectful and silent man his father had been.

"You don't deserve to wear that hat!" I yelled, but the whistling of the approaching train drowned my voice out. I was about to head back into the saloon, until I remembered there was nothing left for me there. I'd probably have to get on the same train as Jack Marston to get back to Benedict Point, unless I wanted to go back in there and face the bartender's wrath of an unpaid bill.

My pride was pretty much dead and gone as I stalked after Jack Marston. I felt like such a pile of crap, having to stand in the same vicinity as him as we waited for the passengers to unload their luggage. That suave son of a bitch.

I let him board the train first, and I immediately regretted this decision when the only spot left was next to a shady-looking fellow in dark clothes with a bandana pulled up to his nose, or the seat behind Jack Marston.

I sat behind the man with the bandana.

The train took off and I felt a sense of apprehension. What was waiting for me back there? It was with only a stroke of luck that I managed to save myself by the skin of my teeth. And what was I going to do now? Would that awful man and his gang hunt me down to the ends of the earth, or was he dead? I knew I had stabbed him in the face, but I wasn't sure how extensive his injuries were. Where was I safe? Not Mexico, not New Austin. Where could I go?

I felt helpless, and alone. I'd no family left to turn to, no one to take me in. Would I just be a rotting corpse out in the deserts? Or should I just succumb to the task of being a prostitute all my life with that rotten gang. What were my choices? Where would I go now?

I felt that same anxious desperation well up inside my chest, threatening to overtake me. What if I just rode the train for the rest of my life? What if –

"Drop to the floor! This is a robbery!" the man with the bandana yelled, rising to his feet and pulling out a six-shooter from his holster. For a moment I just gaped at him – I was so close I could smell the leather of his chaps, the dirt and dust on his clothes and the tobacco on his breath. I could see the glint of his silver gun shining in the sunlight, the wrinkles on his face.

And I almost threw my hands up in disbelief.

Another brush with danger? _Another one?_

"God, you must be toying with me," I whispered as I clambored down toward the floor. I felt a hand heave me back up and I was spun around to face the other passengers. With a start I realized two men were pointing guns at the bandana-wearing fiend – _at me._ He was using me as a human shield.

"Don't waste your bullets or this broad dies!" he yelled, pointing his gone from one man to the other. Jack Marston was one of them. "All I want is your money and your goods. Put them on the floor by your feet and back away."

A woman in tears did as he said, but no one else moved. Jack Marston's gun's safety clicked back and he closed one eye, aiming.

"You're going to take your chance? You're going to try to kill me and risk killing this bitch?" the bandana man asked, pulling me in front of him to better shield him more.

"You bastard, don't you dare try and shoot him!" I screamed at Jack Marston.

"Listen to her. Boy, you don't even look old enough to handle that thing. Why don't you put it down, leave it to the men to sort this out? Just do as I say."

"You bastards! I hate this land! I hate it! Everyone is just a bastard-!"

"Shut the fuck up!" the bandana man yelled, driving the butt of his gun into my skull.

"Bastard! Bastard! _Bastardo! Vete a la mierda! _All of you!" I cried. I could feel the hatred welling up inside my chest, feel it burning my skin. What were the chances of being put through this, twice in less than a day? Was God that determined to kill me? Was it my time to go? Was it –

A gunshot sounded and I gasped. I could feel warmth running down my side, down my arm. I knew it was blood before I looked… yet why didn't it hurt?

The thud of the man hitting the floor made me turn, heart pumping and breath rushing out in high-pitched gasps. I was covered in his blood, and his mutilated form on the ground – shot between the eyes – made me back up.

Everyone started cheering and I turned, watching as several men shook Jack Marston's hand in congratulations, complimenting his sharp shooting ability.

And I stood there, covered in that man's blood. Didn't they care?

After the train stopped, I just kind of sat down on the ground by the train tracks and waited for them to get rid of the body so we could continue on our journey. The sheriff didn't even show up – no one cared. I was shocked by the lawlessness of this land, but I guess I just didn't think it was this bad. People had warned me this side of the west was lawless, I guess I wasn't prepared for it. I was still a child, a little girl that was only terrified and alone. What had I been doing, being a prostitute? I was still just a girl.

The sun was setting and my left side was all wet from the man's blood. It was cold against my skin now and I just couldn't wait to get back home and change.

"You have God awful bad luck," Jack Marston said with a small laugh. His eyes were teasing. I blinked at him in surprise, watching as he put a cigarette stub out under his boot.

"Don't I know it already," I said, rising to my feet.

"I think you've called me a bastard about 7 times now," he continued, taking a step toward me. I looked down at my boots and dug my toe into the dirt.

"What's your point? Why are you here?" I asked, frowning at him.

"You look down and outta luck. I have a soft spot for women who look all hurt like."

"I don't need your sympathy," I said, getting to my feet, "Or your attention. As you said before, why don't you take a leave from me?" I headed toward the train when suddenly shots rang out once more. I looked to my right, where the shots came from, and saw the conductor fall dead to the ground.


	4. A New Beginning

**New Chapter guyssssss cuz I'm actually surprised and complimented two people still want updates. Will always love Red Dead and Jack Marston3 3 **

* * *

><p>Jack and I both jumped apart, watching as the conductor's body hit the side of the tracks with a dull and dead thud. To my surprise, the woman who had been crying earlier about handing over her valuables to the robber held a smoking gun in her hand, aiming it directly at Jack through the conductor's window.<p>

"You wanna try your luck, boy?" she drawled, ducking beside the wall so all but the gun and her hand were hidden. "I'll shoot 'em if you don't drop your guns."

I heard Jack make a sound beside me, kind of like a pfft. He was poised stock still, hands unmoving at his thighs, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly as if all the thoughts in his head needed more air to blow through. I blinked up at him, my mouth hanging open in disbelief at the events taking place. Now what would the amazing John Marston's son do?

The innocent people she was aiming her gun at held stunned looks on their faces, lifting their hands into the air slowly as if they didn't want to startle her into pressing the trigger.

"Too fucking slow!" the woman screamed, and the gun went off with a resonating bang around the canyon walls. One of the passengers fell, a bullet between the eyes just as Jack had done earlier.

The other passengers jumped back. I leaned forward, gaze darting from the woman to Jack. His Adam's apple bobbed but he stayed stock still. He had to be planning something, right?

"What's the purpose of this heist?" he called.

"I'm gonna rob your bodies blind once ya'll are dead," she snarled.

"He was your partner, wasn't he?" Jack interrupted. And he took a step forward, the fucking bastard took a step forward! "Not just in crime."

The gun swung to Jack and the woman's face appeared from the window, aiming down the barrel, a tongue poked out between her lips in concentration.

"You played the crying wench to lead the others into giving up their valuables while he did the grunt work, the murderin' work."

"Shut up."

"Never expected him to hesitate so long in shooting the innocents. I'm sure others have held a gun to him, but he always shot them dead first, didn't he?"

"Shut up boy," she said. Her voice wavered, her accent thick.

"But he never went up against a Marston before," Jack said. "He didn't have a chance." And in one swift motion, Jack pulled his revolver from his holster and was aiming it, probably perfectly in between the woman's eyes.

"You thick you're slick, Marston?" She ducked behind the conductors wall anyways, tucked safely out of sight, gun aiming back at the passengers. "Playing these mind games?"

"What mind games? It's the truth," Jack called, sidestepping so as to get a better aim inside the window. "Tell me why he hesitated."

She was quiet. Then the train's engine hissed and it surged forward. Before it could pick up much speed, Jack lunged for it, scrambling on board just behind the coal cart.

And really, honestly, truly, deeply, if you asked why I followed him, even on my deathbed I could not give you an answer. It was instinct. I don't know what else it coulda been. I saw him go and I felt the urge that I needed to be there too. Was it fate pulling me to my destiny? Was it my inexplainable stupidity to be around danger at all times? I don't know. I don't even remember making the decision. All of a sudden I was gripping onto the ladder on the side of the train, beside the box cars full of luggage.

The train picked up speed fast, racing towards Benedict Point. I suspected whatever conversation they were having at the front of the train had resulted in the woman charging full speed ahead.

I reached for the box car opening with the very tipsy-topsy of my toes, falling onto my knees as I pushed myself off the ladder in a clumsy attempt to land inside the safety of the train. I landed with a thud, glancing up through the passenger cart and toward the front. Jack was crouching behind the coal cart, gun in hand. They didn't know I was here.

I crept forward, keeping to the shadows of the passenger cart until I was by the front doorway.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" the woman screamed, her voice carrying over the rushing winds and sounds of the engine. "The father of my unborn child!" Her voice was an almost inaudible sob.

My eyes went to Jack. I crouched down to his level so the woman would not see me at standing eye-sight level if she were to glance behind her. I peeked out and saw him staring at his gun.

"He shoulda picked honest work if he wasn't prepare to lose everything he had," he said, rather then yelled. It was a phrase that strangely sounded rehearsed. Jack's eyes went to mine, but they were glossed-over and emotionless. He didn't seemed surprised at all that I'd followed him.

"YOU MURDERER!" the woman screamed, over and over again. With two fingers he gestured for me to crawl towards him, which I did. He passed the revolver into my lap and withdrew another, smaller, from his left holster.

"You know how to work one of these?" he said, leaning close to me so only I would hear, as he still had to yell it a bit to be heard over the wind. We were going so fast...

Wait.

"Are you expecting me to enter gun battle with you, Mr. Marston?" I gasped.

"Do you know how to use it or not?" he countered with a frustrated frown.

"No!"

"Well," He shifted his weight onto his heels and crawled to the side of the train, gripping the stairs. "Maybe oneday I'll teach you. For now, just shoot." And he disappeared over the side, crawling forward beneath the train so as to remain unseen.

I pounded forward on my hands and knees to watch him traverse the dangerous trek. He was edging toward where the woman was by using the pipes beneath the train to shimmy along.

And he wanted me to shoot? I stared at the gun in my hand. The woman didn't know I was here. She'd think it was him shooting, still from behind the coal cart.

I felt my heart jump into throat but I gripped that gun, aimed it for the sky, and pulled the trigger. And though I was afraid, God knows I didn't hesitate not for one second.

The woman returned fire instantly, as if she'd be waiting for this moment. The bullets ricoheted off the passenger cart in front of me, each _ping _making me flinch.

There were only six bullets, five for me now with no extra bullets, so I waited for her to get through her 6 and reload so I could shoot again. Otherwise she'd see me aiming at nothing, or she'd notice the feminie hand holding the gun, and she'd know something was up. There was a pause and I shot again. I nearly jumped out of my skin when she returned fire almost instantly again. She was fast at reloading, it must mean she was a good shot too.

The woman was still screaming, too, "murderer" over and over again. I wished my bullets would actually find her brain so I could stop hearing the screeching banshee that she was.

"Hurry up Marston," I whispered, my breath carried away with the wind. The woman paused again, and I returned fire. How long was it going to take Marston to reach her?

She returned fire again. How many bullets had she wasted now? More then 12, for sure. Unfortunately, I wasn't so good at math. Actually I wasn't good at it at all.

Then, in those few second intervals where she reloaded, I was about to return fire when I heard another gun go off, one that sounded completely different. I waited a few seconds, I don't know why, before I got to my feet. My heart was pounding faster then a rabbit's and I felt as if my breath was lost.

"It's safe," Jack called, as if I couldn't see that for my self. He put the train's brakes on, slowing us as we came up to Benedict Point.

"You killed her?" I called. I stared at him, stared at the slumped body he was straddling to get to the inner-workings of the train, then back to him. "She was with child!"

"So what?" he asked. "So goddamn what? The child of two robbers and murderers."

I was done fighting, and if I wasn't I would have told him he was a murderer too. But I'd seen enough death for today, and I'd been through enough recently. I was almost home to the Scratching Post and yet I felt apprehension about returning. That man would know where to find me. Where would I be safe? Where could I go? What would I do?

My eyes fell to the gun in my hands as the train surged to a stop. Jack Marston leapt off in a carefree bound and strode into the station. I followed him, but only after letting my mind hesitate on the gun again. I felt the weight of it in my hands, felt the coolness of the metal on my skin. I could faintly smell the smoke that had all but blown away on the breeze. It felt... I wouldn't say it felt good, but it did feel right.

I entered the station. Jack Marston was explaining what happened to the train station clerk. He proposed the authorities be alerted to identify the bodies along the train tracks and to pick up the passengers stranded halfway between Armadillo and here.

I waited for him on the bench inside the station. Unless he was a saint he'd be wanting his gun back. And I was definitely wanting my horse back.

He strode towards me when all was said and done, that same scowling-blank gaze on his face. It hit me again to see how similar his and his father's faces were. It was a bitter-sweet pang of memory that I shoved aside almost as fast as it had come. But his face, there was something about it that made me want to stare and look away all at once and I hated that aspect of him. Whether it was because his father's face reminded me of the last moments my family were together or something else, I didn't know. Though I assumed the latter.

I passed the gun to him and he tucked it into his holster.

"I appreciate your help today," he said, tipping the edge of his hat.

"Jack Marston," I replied, "I believe we need to talk."

"I believe we don't unless it's about that horse," he laughed coldly, turning for the door. I followed, my heels clacking against the wood.

"I knew your father," I called, the door swinging shut behind me. The chilly wind swept through my hair and only reminded me of what little layers I was wearing and how cold it had gotten with the sun behind the hills.

Jack stopped but he didn't look at me.

"John Marston was a good man. A brave man," I said with a step toward Jack.

"Don't talk about my father to me," he replied, and began striding away again. I ran after him and grabbed his coat sleeve.

"He saved my life -," I began.

"You think I don't know what you are?" Jack asked, leaning down to my height so he could look me in the eyes. "You're a prostitute named Annabel. And if you're one of the whores he had while my mom and I were-,"

"No!" I gasped, a hand flying over my mouth at the vulgarity and hatred in his voice. "I'm... Your father saved my life while I was in Mexico. He took me to the ferry when the Mexican army wanted me dead."

He stopped. It wasn't a lie exactly, so that meant I shouldn't feel bad over it. Right?

"Your face... You look so much like him," I murmured. His eyes darted to mine, boring into them with a mixture of emotions that were at war with each other. Anger and sadness, happiness and hatred. He turned away again.

"Your father saved my life, and you've saved mine," I continued. "And I haven't been the nicest lady about it. I'm sorry for treating you so terribly, Marston. I deeply apologize."

He looked at me.

"Your apologies are god awful and you're excused from apologizing to me ever again," he said. And then he... Well, it was almost a smile on his lips. I sighed out the breath I'd been holding and followed him as he walked across the yard to a small pen that had been built. I saw my Sierra immediately and my smile wouldn't go away as I sunk my hands into her warm fur.

"Safe and sound," Jack said, "As promised."

"I can't make out if you're a good guy or bad guy," I said, kissing Sierra on the nose, "But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt next time you do something that makes me question it."

"Appreciate it," he replied.

"Thank you," I caught his eyes again, and for some reason I couldn't look at them. I turned my gaze back to Sierra, rubbing her nose and feeling the whiskers on it. "I was wondering something, however."

"Okay?"

"I haven't got any money on me, but I'd love to have a drink with you. Just to thank you for all the trouble you've gone through for me. I don't... I... Emotions aren't easy for me and sometimes I don't even know when I'm grateful but, but Jack, I am grateful. Moreso then I think you'll ever know."

I met his gaze. It was red hot and fiery, making my skin feel warm. I looked away. Why did it always feel like he was judging me, or waiting for me to put a gun to his skull? He always had a look on his face that screamed "distrust and resentment."

"Alright," he said.

"We'll drink?" I asked. I couldn't help but smile. Though I sometimes lost myself in the Annabel persona that had to exist in order to keep me alive, I still had a girl's soul. I still wanted people to like me. I didn't want enemies. Especially ones that could put a bullet between my eyes faster then I had time to blink.

He gestured toward the road. "Let's go to Ratheskellar Fort then." I swallowed past the lump in my throat that said this would be trouble and led Sierra out of the pen.

"You'll need a horse," I drawled with an eye roll. Jack whistled. When I turned, all the horses had come jostling toward the fence. He led one out, gave it a pat, and told me his name was Nero, an American Standardbred his father had caught in the wild. I gave the horse a pat and laughed when he bumped his nose against my hand.

Jack climbed on bareback, but I had to tack Sierra otherwise she'd be in pain. Jack waited for me, until the sun was set and night had come, before we set off to my place of employment.

"If I'm buying," Jack said, "You're only getting two shots."

"Two?! Honey, I could out-drink you. I bet you every dollar you got I could out drink you."

He laughed. Genuinely. And my stomach flipped at the unfamiliar and pleasant sound. Though the night was cold and I saw my breath hang in the air, I felt my cheeks burn hot.


	5. Enticement

**New chapter. Loving this story again haha. WARNING: This is where the M rating comes into play! **

* * *

><p>"Why Annabelle dear, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Mary drawled. She was leaning against the bar, arms crossed, legs squeezed together with her behind curved outward so as to look enticing.<p>

I cast a glance at Jack, and I pretended to feel nothing when I noticed his eyes dart from Mary to the ground like a shy boy afraid to be caught staring.

"And whose you're friend here?" she asked, standing upright and holding out a hand. Jack shook it curtly.

"Jack Marston," he said, "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, sugar," Mary laughed. She turned to look at me, blue eyes glazed over. Was she hitting up the moonshine again, or was it just whiskey as usual? I wanted to slap her. The men always exploited her doubly as bad when she wasn't in her right state of mind. I resisted the urge to sigh.

"We all thought you were gone for good," she said, "What happened, baby? You look worse for wear...," her eyes flickered over my attire, "And speaking of wear, what on God's green earth is this?" Her fingers plucked at the garb the woman in Armadillo had given me.

"It's a long story but firstly I have to know - did the man, the good-looking one from a few night's back who wanted to buy up a few girls, did he come back here?"

"No honey, he was gone as quick as he came."

Jack's eyes caught mine over Mary's blonde head. She was a short thing, and I was rather tall. He had a questioning look in them, but what the man had said... All those awful things he threatened to do to me were too shameful to repeat. And the burning hatred of the Mexican government towards myself and my family was too much of a betrayal to repeat. What could I tell him, anyways? This was my problem alone to bare.

"Do you happen to remember his name?" I could barely recall it. Was it Ray?

"Ray Stinson, sugar," Mary said, "Wasn't he a fine man?"

"Have you seen him since?"

"Relax Annabel," she laughed, "Why are you so worked up?"

"He's the reason I was gone," I replied. "I... Just need to know." She looked at me with such big, caring eyes that my shoulders sagged and my gaze went to the floor. "But anyways, that's a story for a different time." I let her catch my eyes flicker to Jack and she nodded slowly, catching on that I didn't want him to know about it.

"Can I offer our guest here a drink?"

"He's buying."

"Two whiskeys, please," he said, sitting on a stool by the bar. Mary gestured to the saloon keeper and he filled our glasses.

Jack took a sip. I downed it. He watched me down it, then downed his own. I wasn't going to play no games with him. This was a battle of wits and he'd find out quickly how far I could go.

"So this is your current place of employment?" he asked, without not a hint of judgement. I waited, sure it was coming. So sure that he'd jab something in there. But all he did was look at me with those brown eyes, expecting an answer.

"Yes," I said. Then I added, "Not for much longer."

He nodded, gesturing to the saloon keeper for another two whiskeys. While they were being poured, I glanced around. The girls were acting no different and everything seemed so normal here. Yet I felt completely changed. I had to become a fugitive now, less I be caught by Ray Stinson. And what could I do? He was under orders by the Mexican government to bring me in. He was free to do what he wanted with me. I felt, once again, the cold fear creep in. The whiskey was placed in front of me and I downed it in one gulp.

"Damn," Jack grunted, downing his.

"Annabel's a drinker," the saloon keeper said with a laugh. "Another?"

"Keep 'em coming," Jack replied with a nod and a gesture of the hand.

"Are you working tonight...?" he asked casually. It was such an odd thing to ask that my gaze shot to look at him accusingly. "Not because... Well, I'm not interested in buying you.. Er, your services, uh.. Ahem. I was just trying to..." He coughed and looked away.

"... Make conversation?" I asked. Another whiskey. Another down. Jack's eyes were round as he watched me but I couldn't be bothered to care. The fear was still there, in my heart and soul. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I wanted my worries to go away but I hadn't not an idea or a plan of what I would do once the morning came. Would it be better or worse to turn myself in to the Mexican government? They would kill me, surely, but was that better then becoming a sex slave? At least as a prostitute I made money. I had some freedom. I could go where I pleased. Ray Stinson didn't want me for anything but my services, and he wanted them free.

And suddenly, an idea popped into my head of where I could go.

"Thieves Landing," I whispered.

"Pardon?" Jack asked. I looked at him, stunned. Could Stinson eventually find me there? Maybe. But Madam had offered me welcome to the Dixie Rose, and it was a place I could hide out and make money while I planned my next move of escape from Ray Stinson.

I took another whiskey shot and slammed the glass down on the bar.

Then I looked at Jack. Liquid courage shot into my veins after that round of drinking. I was asking much of him, I know, but it was a manner of life and death.

"I need to go to Thieves Landing, Marston, and I need someone to accompany me there. I would love it if you could see to it. I know I'm asking a lot, but frankly, I trust you more then hired help. You're a good shot, a hell of a shot, and I knew your father was a righteous man. You must be righteous too. And, and well, I... I need to go. It's a matter of life and death for me, Marston, and I-." I stopped babbling and looked him in the eyes. He was staring at me blankly, as if waiting for the part where this would benefit him. I couldn't think of one.

Well, actually there was only one way I could pay him. The one way a woman could benefit a man that required no money and no commitment.

I lunged forward, throwing my arms out to wrap around his neck. I smacked him in the nose quite clumsily and he reeled back.

Maybe I was a little drunk.

"Oh please, Mr. Marston," I whispered, batting my best bedroom eyes at him, "I would be so grateful." My fingers slid up the back of his neck, into the hair at his nape. It was surprisingly soft. I leaned into him, breasts, though tucked away into this God awful dress, pressing against his chest.

He peeled my arms from his neck.

"I'm going to assume you're drunk," he said. "Let's cut her off," he said to the saloon keeper.

"Jack," I breathed, wrapping my fingers around his hands as he tried to dislodge me, "I need you."

His eyes went to mine, darting back and forth. His face was stoically frozen, but I saw some sort of flicker in them.

"Annabel!" a booming voice called. I leaned away from Jack, turning to the booming voice.

The saloon owner, Stanley Deaton, was holding his arms out as if asking for a hug. I fell into them excitedly.

"Stanley!" I gasped.

"Where have you been my loveliest of lovelies?" he asked, holding me out at arms length. "And what are you wearing?"

"Oh Stan - don't you remember Ray Stinson?"

"Of course not. I only remember the names of beautiful women, Annabel Koen," he said with a booming laugh. He pulled me with him around the bar and poured as a drink of his stash of wine from behind the counter.

I saw Jack moving from the corner of my eye. He was pulling money out, paying the bill.

"Where are you going, Jack Marston?" I asked him shrilly.

"I think our time is up, Annabel Koen," he repeated with a mimic-y drawl that made me feel irritated.

"Where are you going?" I repeated. He gestured to the rooms. I was confused for a moment, until Stanley Deaton clapped him on the shoulder.

"Marston! I was wondering who owned that locked up room!" he boomed. "It's a pleasure to meet John's son. He stayed here for a bit of time. Bought that room for a fair price. What a nice man, such a shame about his death."

"Yeah," Jack said, looking away, "Well, I'm spending the night but I'm afraid that'll be all. I'll be gone in the morning."

"Wait Jack, we still need to talk!" I called. "What about taking me to Thieves Landing?"

He was about to speak, but Stanley spun me around with his huge and powerful hands. He leaned down and looked me squarely in the face, shaking a finger in it.

"You don't think about leaving me for the Dixie Rose now," he said, "You're my best whore."

My cheeks burned with shame, and I was glad I heard Marston's boots clicking away from our shameful conversation. Why did I feel shame to be a prostitute around Jack? Why did he make me feel so guilty without uttering a word?!

"I have to leave. That man, Ray Stinson-,"

"Bobby, how much we made now?" Stanley asked the saloon keeper, hand still on my shoulder. I prodded his arm, bringing his attention back to me.

"Ray Stinson tried to kidnap me, almost had me killed. He wants me dead or captured-,"

"Annabel that sounds all so dreadful. Why don't you spend the night here where it's safe? Stay in Mary's room. We could make double the money if we offer two women for the price of one."

Even as he said that, eyes drifted upwards from the tables in the saloon, ears perked with interest.

"You do owe me from your missed day of work...," Stanley continued.

"I...!" I was at a loss of words.

"Go to Mary. Get dressed. And start selling those tits," he called, giving me a shove towards Mary's room.

Twenty minutes later I was dressed in my corset, heels, stockings and garters. My hair was done, spilling over my shoulders in a wave of black, and my makeup wad done up. The entire time I was being prepared by one of the girls, all I could think of was that no one gave a damn whether I was alive or dead. They just wanted me to make them a dollar.

I went back out to the saloon and made conversation with the men, as I was used to. They were all dimly interested in the idea of having two women, though I could tell they were insecure about how to handle so much feminine in the bedroom. I told them they wouldn't have to worry about it being awkward, as we knew what to do. That made the tigers of their egos pur like kittens.

I wanted to go to Jack and I don't know why. He was obviously not going to help me get to Thieves Landing. And what could I do? I could tell Mary, and stay with her in her room. She'd let me. But it would be a tight squeeze, sleeping in the same bed. I could sell the Scratching Post, and maybe save up enough for the ride to Thieves Landing.

I sighed.

It was well into the night when Mary caught my hand and gave it a shake.

"We have a shared customer, sugarpie," she said. I inhaled deeply. With her words, it felt like a thousand pounds had dropped on my shoulders. It never used to feel so heavy, doing this line of work. Now all I wanted to do was cry, but why?

We went to Mary's room. The customer in question was named Shep Bundy, or that's what he said it was.

He was drunk off whiskey and high on something. He was talking incoherently about a man he had met that day, an "East man" with eyes like "lines".

"I'll be rich," he purred in my ear as I straddled him. Mary came up beside me, touching my hair, pulling it back. I leaned in to kiss Shep and his mouth tasted awful. He slobbered on my lips, bit them, and groped me like he didn't care. He'd be, what we ladies call, a rough customer. The ones who'd rough you up if you didn't set the boundaries.

I pulled back. He grabbed my breasts, then leaned over to Mary and gave her a right nasty kiss too.

"Baby," I whispered, hands sliding down his chest. "Tell me more about how rich you'll be." That gets them going. When you put a little effort in to make them feel extra good about themselves, not just physically but in the mind, too.

"This man, gave me...," he inhaled sharply when Mary's fingers prodded at his belt. "Treasure. A treasure map. Oh, I'll be rich."

I paused, stared at him. Was he delusional or was he serious?

When he caught my gaze with a questioning look, sort of like "why the hell are you stopping?" I returned. I helped Mary take off his belt. I slid his pants down past his knees. His hands went into my hair, knotting it up. Mary grabbed him, took him in her mouth. I pulled her hair back and kissed her on the temple, then looked Shep in the eyes.

"Tell me more, honey," I purred. And I wasn't being so innocent anymore.

His hands came up, stroking my cleavage.

"My map," he said, giving his head a shake as if he couldn't think straight, "My map."

"What about your map, sugar? Where is it?" He laughed. I kissed him, flicking my tongue into his mouth. It was such a wet kiss that when we separated, strings of saliva dragged out between us. I shivered with repulsion. Shep started moaning as Mary's head bobbed up and down faster.

"Oh baby, you're going to be some treasure hunter, huh?" I giggled. I leaned over and licked at him, too. Mine and Mary's tongues touched over his shaft. He gasped in surprise. Must not have been used to two naughty girls.

"That's right," he breathed. I backed up, pulled his pants completely off. As I was tossing it away, I caught sight of a slip of old, browned and ripped paper poking out from his belt loop.

I looked at Shep. He hadn't noticed that I noticed, but a naughty idea was starting to form.

"Tell us more," Mary whispered haughtily, coming up for air. Her hand rubbed him in slow, teasing jerks. His head lulled back on the bed.

"You're a mighty impressive man," I joined in, "The best we've ever had."

"Yes," Mary purred.

"The map says the Great Plains," he continued. His voice was breathy and hot. I gave him a lick to speed up his conversation. The Great Plains was right next to Thieves Landing almost. It was like everything was falling into place. If I was lucky, Shep would be my last customer.

Mary stood up and began untying her corset and stockings. I glanced away as she got into the nude.

"And what else, baby?" I asked him.

"What else is there?" he countered.

"It's just so interesting to hear," I explained. Then Mary straddled him, took him quickly inside her. Shep moaned in pleasure, hands coming up to her breasts as she bounced and slid on him.

"I'm undressing," I announced. Though neither of them paid me any attention. I stumbled backwards and bent over to roll my stockings down, and as I reached the floor I grabbed for the brown paper. It slid out easily from his pants. The sounds Mary was making was enough to cover the rustle of the paper as I unfolded it.

The map looked legitimate, and did indeed point to the Great Plains northeast of here. I folded the paper back up and tucked it into one of my stockings. We'd see whether it would prove fruitful, but I hoped it was enough.

After Shep had paid us his dues, I left quickly to avoid Shep's detection of the missing map. I went to Mary's room and paced in front of her mirror.

I couldn't make it to Thieves Landing alone. I had no money for a carriage, nor any money to pay anyone to accompany me.

However I did have a treasure map now, which might be enticing enough to convince Jack to accompany me. It was definitely enticing enough to convince someone to accompany me, but they wouldn't be Jack Marston. I wanted Jack Marston specifically. I trusted his abilities. He'd already saved my life multiple times. The Marston name had proven itself to me. I wanted Jack.

I inhaled.

But it was a treasure map... It could be a load of bullshit but it could also be real. I could take it for myself. I could ride Sierra almost to death to the Great Plains, take the treasure for myself, and then be rich beyond my wildest dreams. Screw the Dixie Rose, I would never have to work a day in my life again.

Or I could split it halfway with Jack. But was he that generous of a man?

Inhaling again, I exited Mary's room and went for Jack's. His was the 'locked room' us girls had joked about back when times were easier on me. The 'locked room', we'd say, belonged to a millionaire. A handsome one. A bachelor looking for a beautiful wife. Then we'd all fight and try to explain why either one of us was the most beautiful girl in Rathskeller Fork.

I knocked. No answer. I tried the door handle and it popped open, revealing darkness. The light from the hallway spilled into his room. I took a step in and the floorboards creaked.

I heard a gun click.

I stopped.

"Marston," I hissed into the darkness.

"Annabel," he replied with a tired sigh. "I thought it was someone else." I could see his silhouette move in the dark. He tucked the gun back under his pillow.

"Who?" I asked. I closed the door. Then I went to the candle-holder and lit it with the matches that lay there beside it.

"What are you doing?" he asked tentatively, ignoring my own question. I turned, caught him sitting upright in bed without a shirt or a hat and I felt my cheeks warm. His hair was a mess about his forehead, falling into his eyes and sticking up in odd ways. He was blinking the sleep from his eyes, squinting against the light. And his body...

I glanced away. My heart had somehow lept into my throat and was pounding so hard I was afraid it would burst.

"I need to talk to you about what I mentioned before," I said.

"Oh no," he sighed. "I can't take you there."

"Why not?" I asked.

"There's nothing in it for me-,"

"Aha!" I laughed, and leaned over to pull the map from my stocking. When I stood, I saw his eyes flick hurriedly from my own chest back up to my eyes. The room was still for a moment. I knew he was looking. And he knew I knew. Neither of us said a thing. Why was the air so still? Why was my heart pounding?

He was half naked... Heck, he might be fully naked under those sheets. And I was dressed as a girl asking for sex was. And it was the middle of the night. And why did it feel so strange, oh why? Because he wasn't like other men? Because he didn't want to have sex with me? Why was the air so hot and still, why did it feel like I was choking?

I took a step back, feeling way too close to him for my own good, and bumped into the mirror.

"Look at this," I said, tossing it onto the bed. He picked it up and raked over it.

"The Broken Tree? The Great Plains?" he read. His face went still. His eyes glazed over. Then he held the map out as if I should take it.

"So if I take you to Thieves Landing, and I get this?"

"Half of it," I said. I felt so hot all I wanted to do was leave that room and his presence, but I was proud I managed to remember to ask to split it.

He paused.

"I can guarantee this is a legitimate map," I lied. "I can guarantee we'll be rich."

"Really."

"It comes from a trusted source. A good friend."

"And he just gave it to you?"

I paused.

"I need to start a new life," I continued. "He understood how important it was. I wasn't lying when I said it was a matter of life and death for me. Some men are after me. They want me dead, or kidnapped. I need to leave Rathskeller Fork because they know I'm here. They know where to find me." Again, it wasn't that much of a lie. It was more a bluff then a lie. Afterall, the only thing I lied about was the guarantee of riches.

Jack regarded me critically, then he swung his legs out from beneath the sheets and my heart slowed a bit when I saw he was still wearing his pants.

"Promise me," he murmured. "Give me your word." He walked towards me until we were barely half a foot apart.

He stared at me with such intensity yet I could not look away. Looking away might mean giving away that I was lying. Was that his game? Was that why he was looking at me with such an electric stare? I held out my hand. His own hand swallowed my dainty one up. I shook it curtly, but our gazes never dropped.

"You have my word, Marston," I lied coolly.

"Then I'll do it."


End file.
